Save Me
by requiescat in pace
Summary: AU. Dean's life isn't going how he ever thought it would. However, he doesn't really want to change it. Despite all the horrid things he has to deal with, he loves the life that Adam has influenced. It numbs the pain, makes him feel loved. Until he meets Castiel upon his latest rehabilitation treatment. The path to redemption is difficult and sometimes things are just meant to be.
1. Sanity Ride

The young man shifted uncomfortably in the back seat of the car. How he had desperately wanted this car. Of course, the '71 Chevelle was nice in its own right, but his father's Impala? It was more than just a car to him. She was a part of his life, his family. She was a living, breathing memory of his childhood; of the times prior to this horrible mess. If anything, being in this car wasn't doing anything to calm his agitated state.

His muscles ached, still feeling slightly sore and stiff from previous months. His green glare was aimed at the older man in the driver's seat. The teen anxiously hoped that his uncle would see the anger radiating in his cold hearted glower. When their gazes did meet in the rearview mirror, a sudden swell of guilt flooded through him. Of course, he'd never let his Uncle Bobby now it.

"Son, I swear to God this is fer the best," the older man's South Dakota accent thickly embedded his words. The teen didn't even dignify that with a response. He was too upset to even attempt to form an answer. To him this was anything but 'fer the best.' Another sigh escaped his chapped lips as he pulled his gaze towards the window, hoping to avoid any other conversation for the remainder of the car ride. Of course, that wasn't bound to happen.

"Dean, please stop being mad at Uncle Bobby," a dulcet voice fractured the tension in the car, even if only a little. Dean let out a frustrated huff as he stared at the eight year old next to him.

"Sammy," he wasn't sure where to go from there. Saying that Dean was a brilliant liar would be an understatement. It was essential to the life he lived; it had become second nature to him. He managed to push away the guilt coursing through him as he formulated a lie for his younger brother, hoping it wasn't to cliché for Sam to instantly catch on. "I'm not mad-" He was immediately cut off by a gruff voice.

"Not mad? Not mad, my ass. Boy, I've never seen someone make a scene like that at a hospital over bein' discharged." Sam had a couple of tears glistening in the corners of his hazel eyes. "You think you'd be happy 'bout leavin' that joint after fifteen months." Dean was in fact overjoyed about leaving the white walls of his room that often smelled of disinfectant and Jell-O. But it's not like he was trading that in for the freedom of sunshine and fresh air.

"Seriously, Bobby?" Dean noticed Sam curl up against the car door at the informality, pretending to fall asleep as fresh tears trickled down his face. He bought into the feign action, just so he wouldn't feel as guilty for raising his voice. "You expect me to be fuckin' happy about fuckin' leavin' that joint to go to some Christian brainwashing center?"

"Watch yer mouth in front of yer brother." Bobby's serious tone halted Dean from continuing his inane rant. A pregnant pause filled the void before the older man continued. "Dean, it's a Christian rehab facility. It's the only option we've got right now son." Dean was fuming. He knew Missouri or Pamela had got his uncle to buy into that whole power of spiritual healing crap. There was no fucking way that God or Jesus or whatever was going to fix this, going to fix him. He really didn't have time for that bullshit.

"But I don't wanna fuckin' go," he mumbled under his breath.

Which was followed by a "What did I say about language in front of Sam?" in retort. A gravelly sigh filled the car. Bobby was having trouble trying to stay calm. He wasn't sure if this was going to work either, but they really were running out of options for the poor kid. They've tried practically everything else, some things more than once. Besides, they were tight on money right now. This seemed like the most affordable choice for the time being. "I'm sorry, kid, but yer goin'."

"What about Sammy?" Dean's tone softened at the mention of his younger brother, Bobby's heart ached. He knew that Dean and Sam shared a brotherly bond like nothing he had seen before. He honestly did. But Dean had changed. Unfortunately for the teen, he knew most of Dean's tricks by now and managed to do quite well at not falling for them. Which was quite the feat considering how good of an actor the kid had become.

"Sam will be fine wit' me." The older man caught his nephew's gaze in the rearview mirror once more. It broke his heart that he had to separate the boys, but it was only for a short while. This would benefit both of them in the end, he knew it.

Dean was getting desperate. He wanted to go back to his uncle's house and just sleep for a couple of days in his room. He wanted to erase the last year and half away in silence. Dean knew he couldn't use the 'I'll go back to school' excuse. He wore that one out a long time ago. He had to think of something quick. Something that played off the old him that everyone seemed so desperate to save. "But…but mom."

"Dean, she'll be fine. You can visit her at St. Bartholomew's."

He knew that his uncle was right and even though he had been ignoring his family lately, they were still a major part of his life. They were just being casted a more minor role in this chapter of his life.

"But I promised dad that I would be there for them; that I would be the glue that held the family together when he left. You can't do this Uncle Bobby! What will mom and Sammy do without me? Grandpa Samuel is going to do jack for them! I have to be there for them!"

"You should've thought 'bout that one befer this whole mess started then. Its yer own damn fault son." He hated slapping Dean in the face with reality but it's what he needed. His sense of family wasn't what it used to be. Dean was out of excuses at this point that would actually be considered valid by his uncle. He was slipping fast. Dean regretted the next thing to leave his mouth before he even shouted it.

"What about Adam? I can't just leave him!" He pleaded with frantic eyes. Sam flinched at the name of the other boy. Bobby nearly slammed on the brakes.

"That Milligan boy will be fine wit' out ya, won't he?" Bobby growled. He was seething at Dean's act, his knuckles white from his tight grip on the steering wheel. He was pretty damn close to literally slapping some sense into the boy.

Adam was out as a bargaining chip. He had been from the start but it was worth a shot. Dean had gotten away using a lot worse. He was out of options at this point, deciding to go for a new, drastic measure he'd never dared to try before.

"Maybe I'll kill myself while I'm there." His voice was steady, his tone livid and sad.

"You idjit," Bobby's retort was dangerously low, laced with so much ireful disappointment, Dean almost regretted his last statement. Almost. "That's what got you into this fuckin' mess to begin wit'. Think you'd use a lil' more common sense than that, boy." Dean wouldn't let his gaze falter or his face lose its stoic mask. He knew he could win this one.

"Maybe I won't fail this time," vile determination engraved in each word as he spat it out. Dean felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Sam's bloodshot eyes drowning in tears. His heart literally broke at the sight.

"Well if yer goin' keep up this life yer livin' you might as well then," came the mumbled reply.

"Well it's not like anyone would care! No one would miss me because their lives would be better without me! I-"

"De'…" Sam was choking on the words. This was a thousand times worse than his famous puppy eyes. This was his little brother sobbing, the heart of glass he always carried on his sleeve slipping. Dean wanted to catch it so it wouldn't break but knew he was probably the reason for it in the first place. "Please…just, stop."

"Sammy, I - " He cut himself off as he realized he was crying, too. "Sammy, I didn't mean it like that." The car grew silent as Sam's sobs slowly started dying down. It felt like hours passed by before Sam spoke again.

"Can you just go?" Dean stared at his brother in utter confusion. Why would Sam want him to leave so bad? Yeah, he hadn't been the best brother or role model or whatever, but they had a special bond. They were always there for each other no matter what. Paranoia began to creep in, making itself home by sullying his thoughts.

"If that's what you want, Sam." He felt a fresh set of tears prick at the curves of his eyes. He never was one to hurt his family. Key word being was…

"I just want you to get better." Dean felt himself smile. A small smile that expressed the love he had for his brother's selflessness. Everything he ever wanted was for those he loved. Dean had been like that once…

Guilt began to overwhelm the older boy. Why did he have to remember the way things once were? Couldn't he have just moved on? Why did everything have to be so conflicting? "I don't think I'll be getting better anytime soon…if at all," the older boy spoke suddenly not liking the sound of his own voice. He had such doubt dripping off those words he wasn't sure if he could ever even pretend to believe them.

"If you won't do it for yourself, do it for me and mom." Dean couldn't say no. Not to Sam. Especially, not now.

"Fine," was his simple whispered answer. The rest of the car ride was silent from there. Dean stared longingly out the window.

They seemed to be travelling out to the middle of nowhere. Every road for the last hour had been made of dirt. There would be patches of land peppered with a myriad of different trees and others barren of any foliage at all. The sun warmed his face, making him feel at peace for the first time in years.

They finally arrived at their destination after Dean almost fell asleep for the ninth time. He stretched out as much as he could in the back of the beloved family Impala. His back cracked, popping itself back into place. Taking in a deep breath, he winced at the unexpected pain that coursed through his nose. Sam, wide eyed with worry, crawled over to his older brother, who had his face in his hands while hissing in agony.

"Are you okay?" Sam tried not to shout in Dean's ear as he anxiously awaited the reply. Fidgeting, he looked at Bobby. A silent conversation quickly told with just their eyes.

"I'm fine. My nose just still hurts, Sammy." Dean gingerly touched his nose, hoping this wasn't going to be a frequent thing. He turned to smile at his brother. "I'll be okay." Sam retorted with a small, unsure grin of his own. Dean was just thankful it wasn't bleeding this time.

Bobby got out of the car, instructing the boys to stay in the back while he got Dean's things. Dean knew the old man would be leafing through his duffel He didn't blame his uncle for not trusting him though. Dean could barely trust himself. He turned back to his young companion, whose cheeks were still tear-stained. Sam's puffy, red eyes staring back with such lament.

"I'm sorry," Dean choked out. Sam's weary hazel gaze stared into his brother's green one, utterly confused by the apology.

"About what?" Dean knew that it was a question of genuine curiosity but he hated his little brother so much for it. The kid had forgiven him for the hell he had put their broken family through for the past three years. Or was it five? He had lost track over time. It all seemed to blur together like some constant nightmare. Why couldn't Sam just be upset with him? Maybe because then it would be easier for Dean not to feel remorseful towards his brother. But life wasn't supposed to be easy, not after the path he's gone down. Besides, that didn't sound like Sammy at all.

"About…well, everything, I guess." Sam slid over to pull his big brother into a light embrace.

"Just get better, Dean, please," tears threatening to cascade down his face once more. Dean hugged Sam back, feeling worse than he had in years. He never wanted to let go because that would feel as if the virtuous part of his soul was stolen. Sam was what kept him grounded. What kept him feeling as if there was still some good left there inside his tarnished heart. They heard Bobby knock a calloused knuckle against the window, signaling for them to get out of the car. Squeezing his brother for a couple more precious seconds, Dean obeyed.

Snatching his duffel from his uncle, Dean then grabbed Sammy's hand as they sauntered over to what looked like a ranch. It reminded Dean a lot of the farm his uncle used to own before Aunt Karen passed away. They approached a modest looking couple. The woman looked to be slightly younger than Uncle Bobby. Her coffee colored eyes gleaming with sorrow, contradicted the gusto in her smile. Her frail, lithe fingers twisting around a small, silver cross draped around her willowy neck. The man next to her ran a hand through his raven colored tresses, blue eyes showing indifference to their arrival.

"Hello," she shook Bobby's hand with delicate grace, "and welcome to Mercy House. You must be Mister Singer." Dean noticed his uncle nod as he then shook the man's hand.

"I'm Paul Hartley and this is my wife Edith." Paul eyed the boys behind him, offering them a weak grin.

"Will both of you boys be joining our happy home today?" Dean scoffed at her sickeningly sweet voice. Like hell this was a happy home. It just gave him those nine kinds of crazy vibes.

"Just the older one," Bobby gestured towards Dean over his shoulder. Dean shuffled uncomfortably as the woman's gaze focused on him. Sam clutched his hand tighter. Bobby turned towards them, sudden uncertainty lingering in his eyes. "Okay boys, it's time to say yer goodbyes." Tears twinkled in the youngest Winchester's hazel hues.

"Sammy," Dean crouched down, hand softly tilting his brother's chin up so their eyes met. A serene feeling fluttered through Dean. At that moment, he felt like that big brother Sam had once looked up to. "Shh, stop crying for a moment, 'kay?"

"Bu-but what if I never see you again?" Dean ruffled Sam's hair in loving jest.

"Please, you'll never be that lucky." Sam let out a light chuckle through a stifled sob.

"But what if you…forget?" Dean could feel the nudging guilt flow through him. Was Sam getting at what Dean thought he was getting at?

"Forget about what?"

"Us. Mom and Uncle Bobby and…me." His voice sounded broken and dejected.

"I could never forget you." He wiped away a couple of Sam's stray, "I could never forget anyone. Not even if I tried."

"How do you know?"

He pulled out the necklaces looped around his neck out from under his shirt. He lifted a white gold, Celtic cross with tenuous fingers, "See, mom's always going to be here with me." He then lifted some old, tarnished dog tags, "Dad will be here, too." He then slid his fingers over a golden, Egyptian amulet on a leather cord, "And you'll always be here with me."

"Over your heart," Sam said as he cupped the three necklaces in his hand, sliding them over his brother's chest so they lay over Dean's heart. Dean couldn't help but smile. He used to hate moments like this, but now it was all he had to make sure that his brother still loved him.

"Always," he hugged Sammy tightly, kissing his forehead. "Love you, bro. You be good for Uncle Bobby, 'kay?"

"I promise. Love you, too, De'." Dean easily straightened himself up, staring apologetically at his Uncle.

"Just get better, son." Dean wrapped his arms around his uncle, finally feeling a tidal wave of remorse crashing down. He knew it would go away though. It constantly did. He was left speechless. "I'll look after Sam and Mary." Bobby stared into his nephew's eyes, seeing the boy he once knew. He ruffled the kid's hair. It pained the older man to know that his nephew was slipping through the cracks.

Dean wanted to apologize but knew it would be meaningless words coming out of his mouth. "I'll try not to fuck up this time." It was more akin to a question than a promise.

Sooner than he would've liked, Dean watched his family drive away in the beloved Impala. At that moment, he decided he wasn't so sure if he could remember them. As time went on, he usually had a harder time of separating reality from his the place inside his head. But maybe this time, this time he wouldn't have to rely on his old vices. He wouldn't rely on Adam. His heart gave a stinging squeeze.

"Dean?" The teenager whipped around, facing the Hartleys. Paul gave him a fatherly smile while Edith extended a hand. "Why don't we go inside and get you ready, dear?" With a sigh, he rolled his eyes dramatically, turning around to follow them with little alacrity.


	2. The Boys of Mercy House

Edith wandered to the left as Paul guided Dean straight down the hall. They arrived at a circle broke off into several directions. Paul stopped them, his hand on Dean's shoulder. "Well, how about we start by having me introduce you to some of the fellas."

"Have you ever had a girl here?" Dean asked with little interest. It seemed like a decent question. Paul gave a half-hearted smile.

"Once," nostalgia washed over his features, "she was a sweet girl, like a daughter to us. She was here for about eight months or so. That was quite a while ago though." The man's southern accent was heavy, comforting even. Mr. Hartley stared at Dean, who merely shrugged in response. He wasn't sure where to go from there. He honestly was expecting a no to come out of the Paul's lips.

In Dean's opinion, he could probably stand Paul Hartley. The man seemed decent enough and as if he actually cared about the people lodging here for their rehab or de-gayification or whatever.

He followed the older man down a hallway. Dean admired the hardwood floors but decided the layout plan for this place was inane as all hell. They stopped at an open door that had a familiar guitar rift wafting out. The teen's ears perked up at the familiar tune. The boy with the guitar looked up from under his lashes as Paul and Dean entered the room.

"Hey, Paul." The boy's hand slid up the neck, resting on the headstock as he tuned his instrument. The soundboard had a sweet custom paint job of a barbarian queen riding a polar bear. Dean had a feeling he was going to like this guy.

"Andy, this here Dean Winchester. Dean, this Andy Gallagher." Andy raised his chin in a sort of hello nod to acknowledge the new comer.

"Hey, that was Spinal Tap's "Stonehenge", wasn't it?" Dean said with a grin at the sudden realization of the song Andy had been playing a moment earlier.

"Yeah, it was." Andy actually looked up, staring directly at the two men standing in the door way. "Cool. You have a great taste in music." Dean let out a breathy laugh.

"I've been told; right back at ya." Dean was relieved knowing not all of the company was going to be a drag. "That's a Fender Starcaster 6-String Acoustic, right?" "Yeah, she's the love of my life actually. My most prized possession." "Dude, I could say the same about my dad's car. Total beaut. Manual '67 Chevy Impala." Andy let out a low wolf whistle.

"Impala's best year, if you ask me. That's a serious classic." He stuck out his hand to Dean in a gesture of friendship. The other boy gladly accepted. "I have a feeling we'll be good friends." Paul directed their gaze to the other half of the room.

"And this is Alan Corbett. Alan, say hello to Dean" Alan shyly lifted his head out of his book, a nervous smile gracing his features. Dean couldn't help but smile back. This kid reminded him of Sammy.

"Hi," he gave a small wave before staring back at the text spread in his lap. It seemed like a rather old book.

"Hey," Dean replied back, "It's nice to meet you. What do you have there?" He pointed at the worn text his Alan's hands.

"An old copy of Voltaire's Candide. It was my father's and it's probably my favorite."

"That's one of my mom's favorites." Dean went to the younger boy to shake his hand as well. "If you want, I can lend you the copy of Machiavelli's The Prince my brother packed in my bag. My mom really seems to like that one, too."

"Okay. Thank you very much." Alan flashed a quick, fraction of a smile before returning to the open pages of the paperback before him. Dean didn't see the point in being an asshole even though he wasn't too fond of being at Mercy House. He was only going to be here for a couple of months. No point it making this place hell by making enemies off that bat. They seemed like nice people. In fact, he probably would've been friends with them prior to when he met Adam. He wanted to ask Paul if these were the only two other occupants in treatment but decided he would find out soon enough.

"Boys, make sure you get ready for dinner. It should be shortly. Whatever Marion's cooking smells good." Paul gestured for the latest addition of their flock to follow him over a room or two. Upon entering he noticed the right half. It gave off the feeling of a log cabin. Lots of exposed wood on the furniture as well as plaid fabrics with dark greens and rich browns. It had the standard bed and nightstand everyone seemed to have, however, there was also a desk. It looked as if it had lost a fight with a paper shredder or something equally as horrific. "This here is where you'll be staying. You're rooming with Chuck Shirley. Chuck's a good guy. You'll like him."

"Do I have to have a roommate?" Dean wasn't judging this Chuck fellow before meeting him but he was never big on sharing a room. Even with Sammy. Dean savored privacy. Especially considering it wasn't something he's had for quite some time now.

"Everybody does except fifth phasers."

"What is this? Like scientology or some shit?" The green eyed teen was confused as well as slightly irritated.

"No, fifth phasers have been here the longest and are accomplishing what they set out to do." Dean histrionically rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." The soft padding of feet could be heard nearby in the hallway. A knock on the doorframe got the attention of both men. Edith beamed brightly, approaching her husband. Tentatively she grabbed his hand.

"Paul, honey, could you please round up the rest of the boys for dinner? Charles and Adam are already helping set the table and such." He pecked her cheek with gentle grace.

"Of course, sweetheart." This left his female counterpart alone with Dean. Something about her gave him this apprehensive feeling that he could feel flitter beneath his skin. Edith's chocolate eyes, round and full of synthetic sympathy, stared at the teenage boy next to her.

"Add a personal touch when you're ready." Throwing his duffel harshly onto the plain bed on the left half of the room, Dean let out a mirthless chortle. "Or don't. Whatever makes you comfortable."

"Don't have to. I didn't get that gene."

"You have the genes that the Lord designed for you and _you_ have the choice to lie in his image." She glanced over at the boy beside her, deciding by the look of disdain on his face that now probably wasn't the best time to start the healing process. God's word will cleanse this boy's soul yet. They had time. "Just run it by Chuck first before you do anything. He shouldn't have a problem with it."

"Got a key for that door?" Dean pointed in the direction he was speaking of, knowing full well that the answer wasn't going to be the one he was hoping for.

"No. We don't lock our doors. There's nothing to hide here." The dirty blonde was less pleased with her response than he thought. Why couldn't she just say yes or no like a normal person? "Are you going to eat tonight?"

"No." See, was that really so hard to do?

"Then come straight to my office so we can you started. I'll give you a little time to adjust to your new room, okay?" With a purposely loud and melodramatic sigh, he plopped down on the bed he was going to be sleeping in for the next few weeks, two months tops. It wasn't the most comfortable thing he's slept on but it was better than the hospital bed. And definitely better than sleeping on the cold, damp pavement of an alley.

Eventually after unpacking the few chattels he was allowed to bring with him, Dean thought he should head out in search of Edith's office. Better to get it over with now so he could sleep in for the rest of the day. There was a myriad of doors in this place. It was like a fun house from the Twilight Zone. He soon made his way out to a gravelly, cobblestone path that seemed to lead around the building.

Having not really paid attention to anything going on outside the whirlwind in his head, Dean ran into another boy. It wasn't either of the boys he had met earlier and he pictured Chuck to be a lot more…eccentric. The male in front of him was shorter by an inch or so, more lean and lithe in his build. His inky tresses tastefully ruffled about. They brought out the heavenly blue orbs that danced with joy on his pale face.

"Hi. Castiel Hartley," the boy stuck out a willowy hand, "you must be Dean." The emerald eyed boy stared in awe, pulling one of his own hands from the pocket of his raggedy jeans.

"Yup."

"Well, are you coming for dinner?" The taller of the two was slightly irritated at this point as he retracted his hand from their shake.

"Jesus, is that all you people think about?" Castiel let out a brilliantly melodious chortle. It made Dean want to smile out of pure reaction.

"Well at meal time sure." The raven haired teen opened the door they were standing in front of. "Guess I'll be seeing you around then, Dean. It was a pleasure to meet you." Dean followed the boy in the house, watching him join the room where everyone seemed to be gathering for dinner. Turning left, he made his own way towards a room that had Christian empowerment music drifting out. It had a very Edith vibe to it.

Turned out he was right. Mrs. Hartley was hunched over her desk, reviewing manila folders, humming to whatever harp laden song was playing on her radio. Clearing his throat, the teen approached her hesitantly, sitting down in the chair that she gestured to. She continued her work for a moment longer before looking him straight in the eyes.

"We are Christian recovery program specializing in sexual brokenness and in addition to the golden rule," an abrupt pause. "You do know what the golden rule is, correct?"

"I'm not an idiot," the boy growled in retort.

"Well then, in addition to the golden rule we have a few others we'd like for you to follow." Dean regretted coming early now.

"No caffeine." That's fine. He never really liked the stuff anyway.

"No nicotine." Okay, he'll just find a new way to relieve stress and keep himself awake when he didn't feel like sleeping.

"Meals are at six, twelve and five thirty." That seemed more organized that Saint Bartholomew's. Who would complain over three square meals a day?

"The second Sunday of each month is reserved for fasting and reflection. Group meetings are six days a week at ten am. They are mandatory. Sundays we attend morning service at the local church." Great, things that are supposed to help him not only better himself but make it seem like his life has structure. It could be worse…

"As far as addiction issues go, Paul will be helping you. Nine years of victory over addiction and alcohol." That's not so bad. Paul seemed like a decent guy. It's probably better than rehab and all of those mental institutions.

"We expect modesty in language, behavior and dress." Change his entire personality and wardrobe. Got it.

"Daily chores are assigned at the beginning of each week and they include house cleaning, yard work, cooking-"

"We don't have to attend classes, do we?" Honest to fucking God. This lady is ridiculous. How many more rules could this place have?

"Dean, this is a choice _your_ choice. Do you understand?" She just received a glare. How was it his choice if he wasn't the one that decided on being here? "You're free to go at any time. But here's the good news, if you are ready to make a change, you're in the right place."

"Ya'll just do this for free? Seriously, who pays for this?"

"Actually," Edith pursed her lips unsure of where to go from here. With a deep breath, she continued, "your uncle paid for six months here." Dean was done. What the hell was this?

"Sonovabitch!" He jumped out of the chair, throwing is across the room before knocking all the paperwork off her desk and smashing a hole in a nearby wall. "That mother fucker!" He couldn't prevent himself from speaking in anything but a shout. Anger pumped throw him boiling over like rice in an unwatched pot.

"Your uncle cares…" What the fuck does this bitch know? He literally met her a few hours ago. She knows nothing about him or his family.

"Of course he fucking paid for six fucking months! You know what? I don't need anyone's charity or help, you got that? I can't fucking stay that long. He fucking just wants to get rid of me. Fuck, this is just like fucking dad all over again! He sees me just like his fucking brother!"

"Dean," the older woman's voice tried to sound assertive yet soothing. She was failing miserably. "I think you should stay the night over and pray about it."

"I don't want to fucking pray!" Truly he was hated this woman the more he spent time with her. God damn, can't she just shut her mouth?

"Just think then. We'll talk in the morning. Until then watch your language." A pregnant pause filled the void but didn't help with the unpleasant aura in the room. "Please." He could strangle this woman. He really could.

"Jesus Christ," Dean stared at those irksome brown eyes. "Sorry." The apology had a bit of a sarcastic bite to it. "Can I go to my room now?"

"Sure, but after dinner check with Paul about when you'll be helping with birdhouses. He'll be seeing you for your first session tomorrow." Dean stormed out of the room, slamming as many doors as he could until he could lay in bed in peace.


	3. A Mother's Advice & Meeting the Roommate

Dean had been hidden away in his room for hours, thankful that the mysterious Chuck fellow he was sharing it with hadn't returned yet. He wasn't sure what time it was nor how long he had been in here. However, two things he was sure of at this point.

One, that a decent amount of time had passed by if one were to go by the sun in the sky. Or lack of sun for that matter. Lunar light was casting a dim glow over the dark night sky like a star speckled blanket. It was early in the evening, maybe only seven thirty?

The other thing Dean was sure of was his feelings on Mercy House. It felt akin to one of those mental institutions he was placed in throughout the years. However, one could still have some sense of personal freedom at Sagebrook or Vistal Shores of Northmark. There was still a schedule to abide by.

And just like every institution and rehab center prior to Mercy House, the teen laid in his bed staring at the ceiling, memorizing each little crack, bump, grove and imperfection that littered across it. Upon counting speckle-sized hole number seventy-three, the all too familiar feeling began to creep beneath his veins in desperation. His nose bleeds have been limited to the incident in the car with Sammy, which was a plus.

Still, his progress was a slow trek this time. Not that is was usually a face-paced excursion in his life. Then again, he normally forced himself to "get better" quickly to appease his family. This time though, he could feel the passing of time as his body craved the delicious fix of freedom. That's what it was to him: freedom and love and the passion of living. It had consumed him to all that was left was a desperate, worn out boy left afraid and yearning.

Absentmindedly he scratched at his forearm, applying extra pressure along his veins, hoping to make the want disappear. Slowly, Dean inhaled before humming a familiar tune. A small smile crawled onto his lips, making itself home on his face.

The teen's moment of solace was interrupted by a soft knock that came from the opposite side of the door. He felt as if his roommate was a moron. Firstly, these doors weren't locked; in fact they couldn't be because Mrs. Hartley didn't feel they deserved privacy. Secondly, this Chuck guy was here before he was ergo making him more entitled to the room. If anything, Dean was invading on this other's boy's tranquil existence in this shithole.

Histrionically, with the intention of being so, he opened the door, ready to shout at his inept roomie. That is until blue clashed with green. One seemed surprised with confusion, the other seeming to regret their decision. However, if Dean were to ever look back on this moment, he couldn't tell you which was which.

"Hello," the voice carried more shyness than before but didn't lack any of the previous sincerity. The younger boy's voice was edged with a certain nervousness that made Dean think of Sam. It was an innocence that seemed so fragile, so pure. It was very endearing actually.

Castiel had beautiful eyes. That's all Dean could think about in this moment. Those ice pool pools that glimmered on his porcelain face were captivating. How could one not admire those shockingly bright, blue hues? Dean had realized it must have been awkward just staring at the boy with the raven tresses. He was sure that Castiel had said something but he couldn't bring himself to look away from those eyes.

'Uhh, hello?" His reply came off as perplexed. He was just grateful that it didn't sound arrogant. Clearing his throat, he mentally attempted to collect himself. He was doing so well with everyone else and for some reason he really didn't want this boy to dislike him. For some unknown reason, he wanted nothing more than this other teen to accept him. Dean blamed those mesmerizing eyes. "How are you?"

"Well, thank you. Yourself?"

"Fine," came the drawn out, unsure retort.

Castiel lifted the small basket covered in a sheet of kitchen linen to his dirty blonde companion. "Well, I noticed you weren't at dinner and…" He shifted betwixt feet, wondering if he should continue or not. He sighed heavily. "We heard the argument between you and…" Dean felt a surge of guilt. It was short lived but he knew he had felt it.

"You heard that?" He rubbed the back of his neck in feigned shame. Dean's personality didn't really leave much for shame nor did the life he had recently lived.

"Umm, yeah. Well, anyway, I knew you must be hungry so I snuck some food from the kitchen for you. I didn't think you should be forced to starve your first day here." He revealed a hearty looking roast beef sandwich, a small container of fresh fruit and what appeared to be a twice baked potato. "I made some of it myself because there wasn't really a lot left over from earlier. Kind of a difficult feat considering there's at least seven teenage boys here."

"Quite the rebel, aren't you?" The jesting tone matched the lighthearted expression blanketing the taller boy's face. Castiel grinned at the casualness of the moment. He didn't get those often. "I really appreciate the food. Thanks." Castiel gently passed the basket of goodies over.

"You could say that but I'm not sure people would agree."

"Why's that?"

"They would just tell you that I'm too nice for my own good." The tallest of the pair couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, my mother always told me to watch out for the sweet boys. The ones who are too nice are usually hiding a dark personality beneath that innocent façade." Both boys shared a small laugh, though both chuckled for a different reason.

"I'm flattered? I hope not to disappoint you but I'm just a pushover. I'm not really composed of complex layers." Castiel stared into those green eyes with hazel flecks speckled along the iris. They reminded him of a warm spring day out in the forest. A question came to mind. He found it inane. It was. Castiel couldn't help but ask it though. "So, if your mother warned you about nice boys then does that make you a quote-on-quote bad boy?" Dean looked from under his long lashes as he spoke his reply.

"You could say that. Unlike you, I have a lot of people who would agree with you on that one." The younger boy wasn't sure what kind of answer he was going to receive. However, for some odd reason, this wasn't entirely what he was expecting. He wasn't sure why but he just couldn't see what everyone meant when they spoke of Dean. The boy had hardly been he a day and he was already popular. Sure the dirty blonde was ascetically pleasing, unhindered when it came to his emotions and opinions, a bit cocky perhaps but he seemed…sweet. Castel had heard about Dean's tearful goodbye with his brother and uncle from Paul earlier that day.

However, every kind little detail he hears about the latest Mercy House arrival seems to be shadowed by rumors or the livid tone that lay underneath all of Edith's words as she spoke of Dean.

"Castiel? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why do you ask?"

"I've been waving a hand in front of your face for the past minute while saying your name. You okay?" Castiel felt himself flush a bit at his behavior.

"My apologies, I was lost in thought. I'll let you enjoy your dinner then. Chuck is busy reading in the study right now for some inspiration on his latest piece. He shouldn't be back for another half hour or so, just so you know." The boy beamed brightly at Dean, ready to make his leave.

"Wait, would you like to join me?" Dean held up the basket of food Castiel had given to him.

"Thank you, but I really shouldn't." Dean felt a slight bit of disappointment. "I'm sorry. I would but I have to get up early to help Marion with breakfast and my mother with group."

"Wait, your Edith and Paul's son?"

"Yes, I am." That laugh that made Dean's chest feel light and warm came out of those smiling lips. "I thought you'd figure it out since I introduced myself as a Hartley." To be honest, that had slipped Dean's mind completely.

"Oh. My apologies then? Guess my mind was preoccupied."

"No worries. Enjoy your late supper. See you in the morning. Perhaps we could have another conversation tomorrow?"

"Yeah, sure. I don't see why not." And with a final toothy grin, the boy disappeared behind the door with a subtle click.

Dean thoroughly took pleasure in the dinner he was given by the youngest Hartley. True to Castiel's word, Chuck appeared in the room about thirty minutes later.

Chuck Shirley was twitchy to say the least; akin to a small, skittish animal that had consumed copious amounts of caffeine. He was covered in stubble with the worn, tired eyes of an insomniac. The smell of dirt, ink and rubbing alcohol wafted from his dark, earthy colored clothes. "Hello?"

"Chuck, right?" The emerald hued teen stuck out his hand for the umpteenth time today in the form of a friendly gesture. "I'm Dean Winchester. According to the Hartleys, we're roomies." Chuck grabbed his hand with uncertainty.

"You're not what I was expecting. Someone taller…more athletic maybe; I don't really know though." Chuck examined Dean with quick, calculating eyes. "Yup, not quite what I was expecting."

"May I ask what you were expecting?" Dean stared at their hands, which Chuck kept shaking as he continued to analyze the dirty blonde.

"Not really sure, actually. But it was mentioned, could be a rumor for all I know, that you're druggie." The taller of the two snorted in reply. "You don't seem much like a druggie."

"Thanks…I think?" Dean wasn't sure what to make of Chuck but he seemed like a nice guy. "You an addict yourself? You seem like you're going through withdrawal. I would know; I've been through it enough times myself."

"No…no. Not really. Just…I need coffee to help focus," who called it? "Sometimes a nicotine fix. But can't have that here and it doesn't help with my nerves. Occasionally a swig of Jack Daniels, but that's not an everyday thing. Normally I'm not so bad, but I'm not good with meeting new people."

"Calm down, promise I won't harm you. Or judge you," the second half being added in as a sort of afterthought. Chuck nodded in agreement while padding his slippered feet over to his bed. Dean felt bad that he tweaked the guy out before even meeting him. However, the guy could be like this most of the time.

"Okay, that's good. Friends then? We could be friends, if you want."

"Sure, Chuck. We can be friends."

"Good night, Dean."

"Night, Chuck." Dean was glad that one day was done at Mercy House. Just another 183 days to go…

Or at least something like that…


	4. Sometimes People Haunt Worst Than Ghosts

Hauntingly familiar; well really it was just a familiar face that was haunting him for months now.

However, it always seemed to lead to the same memory. The same God damn one Dean wishes he could forget most of the time.

Every detail was vivid and clear, like when inspecting an oil painting up close. The smell of cottonwood trailing behind in the air paired with the warmth of the summer heat; the cacophonous sound of the cicadas in the wheat fields. The sky was a clear, azure blanket draping the town as the wind caressed the lush patches of grass. Birds scarcely flew by in the open sky. Old cars drove by that could use a serious tune up, blasting a country song here, a rock ballad there. It was a peaceful summer day in Lawrence.

It was so wholesome, normal. Dean honestly couldn't remember a summer day that wasn't like this. The smell of lake water, the taste of lemonade from children's twenty-five cent stands, tan bodies with streaks of sun screen moving about with smiles and friendly laughs. A typical summer Sunday that never seemed to change.

Dean remembers humming an Asia song Sam played on the radio earlier that morning. He was leaning on the hood of the Impala, soaking in the warmth of the early afternoon. Wearing his best pair of jeans, the ones with the least tears and dirt stains, as well as his favorite Zeppelin tee tucked beneath a plaid over shirt. He looked pretty decent. They weren't "Sunday best, church worthy" clothes but Mary would smile at the effort put forth by her eldest.

The oldest Winchester boy promised his mother that he would meet her at St. Sophia's for afternoon mass. He waited, not wanting to be late which in turn would lead to disappointing her. He was finally gaining some trust back, why fuck that up? Not that he had intentionally fucked it up to start with. That just sort of happened.

Eyes closed, letting the serene feeling of the summer flood over his worries, Dean ignored the approach of not so subtle footsteps. Cool hands covered his face. The distinguishable smell of Irish Spring soap with a touch of Stetson cologne gave away the mystery person's element of surprise. A smile spread across the green-eyed teen's face like butter on hot toast.

"Adam, I know it's you," the younger boy teased as the Milligan boy leaned down for a gentle kiss. Little moments like these, Dean savored them knowing they were rare occurrences.. Dean gave out a light hearted chuckle as he spun around in the older boy's arms. He leaned in, euphoria filling his body. Adam's arms pull the younger teen closer to his body. Dean's nose rubbed lightly against the soft hair along Adam's neck, inhaling his warm scent.

"Dean," the older boy's laughter tickled the top of Dean's head with heated breath. "You're in a touchy-feely mood."

"It's just nice to see you." A full lips brushed Dean's forehead, smiling.

"What are you doing here?" Adam looked around, showing some distaste for the church across the street. "Are you going to church?"

"My God, Adam, who has ever heard of someone going to mass on a Sunday?' Dean mocked the older boy in a sarcastic tone. "Seriously? You know I come from a religious family, right?"

"I thought that was just your mom and brother."

"Dad was a bit. I think he just feigned interest for mom." Dean thought back to all the services on holidays or football games in which his father would go to church with his family, smile on his face once he saw how happy his wife was. Even if he had put up a fight before they got to the church. "He had some kind of theology degree, I think. Not sure why he'd need that as a mechanic though." Dean stared at his counterpart with a bit of amused confusion. "Aren't your parents like eerily religious?"

"Not my fault they wanted to name me Michael and to send me through the Catholic school system. Not like I care, they're always gone doing missionary work." Dean wasn't quite sure where Adam got his hatred for religion from but it wasn't like Dean was all that spiritual himself.

"You could attend mass with us," the younger boy attempted to be humorous and polite at the same time.

"I'm sure I'd burn upon entering the threshold of those ornate doors." Dean stifled a laugh as Adam pulled him close, planting a kiss on his cheek. "I say we go drive around in the Impala and get s'wasted."

"I'd love to but I can't."

"That's hilarious, Dean," Adam tugged at his companion's arm, pulling him toward the driver's side of the Impala. His voice was laced with hints of impatience, "Come on, let's go have some fun."

A brief chuckle at Adam's failing attempts to have him leave escaped the green-eyed boy's lips. "I really can't. What about later tonight?"

Adam stepped closer, breath ghosting over his ear, "Oh come on, please?" He flicked his tongue in as he drew back, lips lightly dragging along the earlobe. "Just for a little bit, honest."

The younger of the pair tried to plaster a stern look on his face. "I'm not going, Adam." He meant for it to sound annoyed, firm but all that came out was a jesting tone with a loving undertone. Dean had always had a hard time saying no to Adam.

"I see," Adam's eyes shining brightly in the early afternoon sun making them look like a striking seafoam green, "If you're busy for the next couple of hours, then fine," his tone and body language becoming indifferent.

"Yeah…umm, my mom wanted us to see my dad after the service Maybe we could meet up after?" Dean's eyes glazed over with disappointment. Apathy washed over the blue eyed teen's features as he shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Sure, depending on whether or not they're still shipping you off to your Aunt Ellen's in Nebraska."

"Yeah, I forgot about that."

"Well, I want to spend time with you but you did promise Mary and Sam you'd attend church, so you know…" Adam closed off the small distance between them. He purred in his young lover's ear, his voice low, seductive, warm. "And I know you don't want to disappoint them, even though I want you with me," forcing emphasis on the last two words. He flicked his tongue along the lobe of Dean's ear before meeting his eyes once more. A shiver shot its way up Dean's spine, intense warmth buzzing at his nerve endings.

"When was the last time we had any alone time together?" Adam's breath ghosting over Dean's face as he trailed his lips teasingly along neck; fingers caressing the younger boy's chest.

Dean glanced at his watch. His mother and brother would be arriving in roughly twenty minutes. They could not see him with the Milligan boy. "I can't, Adam. Besides, what are you talking about? When aren't we ever together? We're practically attached at the hip. In fact, what about this morning? You snuck out of my room at 3AM." He looks down at his worn, dirt caked boots, unable to stare at the intensity coming from Adam's eyes. He knew he was going to cave in if he kept staring at those pale, blue eyes. Dean always did.

Adam dragged him close, body heat radiating off each other, mixing with the heat of the summer air. Dean made the mistake of looking up. Green clashed with blue. His resolve melted. A quick kiss ensued. Quick but passionate, reminding Dean of the fresh-faced days of when the relationship was new, exhilarating. Back when he first fell in love with Adam.

A fierce blush consumes Dean's face. His eyes meet with the elder boy's once more. "I love you," was all he whispered before pecking a sweet kiss on Adam's lips. Adam could feel his heart warm a little at the innocent gesture.

"Well, I just feel like we don't have enough time _alone_ together." He nuzzled the eldest Winchester's collar bone, inhaling the smoky, musky smell of the young Kansas mechanic, as he spoke. "Besides," A sultry authoritativeness clinging to his words again, "I have a bottle of Hypnotic. You can always change your mind; spend your time with me rather than those bible humpers." Adam's hand trailed down his lover's body, rubbing small circles on Dean's thigh. Brushing his lips teasingly against Dean's one last time, Adam pushed himself off so he could head over to his car.

"Adam," he called out in sudden desperation, hand reaching in the direction of his older lover. "I want to go it's just that…I promised my mom, one time. I haven't gone to church in years. Even when I try, you always come by. You always have me sneak out half way through mass, if not sooner. I can't do that to her again. Adam, I'm really fucking up. Just one time for my mom, okay?"

"Whatever," another indifferent shoulder shrug, "just call me when you're done pretending to be a good little boy."

"Adam…"

"Dean, it's seriously whatever. If you want to pretend to believe in that religious bullshit, then fine. I thought you loved me, but –"

"I do but love her, too."

"But _you_ love _me_. One time, just one more time, I swear. One last Sunday where we get drunk and head down over to the old motel down past the church." He sauntered over slowly, seductively, to the older Winchester boy. "Just another fun, lustful night together; one last time, I swear I won't do to you again on a Sunday."

"You say that every week."

"You exaggerate. And I really mean it this time. Please?"

"Adam," Dean's tone rose slightly in frustration, "Please, just stop. Stop this. You pull this bullshit all the time."

"Well, that's not my problem," he spat back.

"Well, it will be when I say no."

"Pfft, like you'll actually say fucking no to me." They shared a heated moment of eye contact, passionate tension flaring betwixt them. "Like I said, whatever. I don't need you. I can get anyone I want for anything I want. You're replaceable to me, Dean." Adam turned quickly, marching over to his car. He stopped as he heard his name in a strangled tone, a victorious smirk gracing his flawless face.

"I…I guess I could go next week. Just, don't…I'm…please do be upset with me," green eyes pleading apprehensively. He rushed over to Adam, encasing himself in the older boy's strong arms.

"Dean, I'm not upset with you. Shh, don't cry. Come on, we'll take my car"

"We could take mine."

"Yeah, but your uncle would kill you." Dean mulled it over. True, his Uncle Bobby would kill him for taking the impala out with Adam Milligan. But Dean liked to think that it was now his car. Besides…

"Yeah, well, my mom's going to kill me for ditching church if I go with anyway. What's the harm in taking the car, too? That'd just make it official."

"So that means you'll go then?"

"I never actually said–"

"Did I mention the coke I have hidden in my back pocket?"

The painful, familiar and extremely unwanted harsh buzz of an alarm clock echoed in the small room. A groan from the newest occupant could be heard as he threw a pillow over his head.

"You know, that's not really going to do anything," Chuck mumbled as he quieted the alarm clock on their shared nightstand.

"I don't fucking care," was Dean's almost unheard retort as he snuggled closer into the warmth of his bed.

"You have to get up you know." A green eye peered from under the pillow to glare at the scruffy male.

"I will." A slight pause as they simply stared at each other, "Eventually."

Chuck decided not to push 'the getting out of bed' issue any further. He really didn't want to get on Dean's bad side, especially considering the following two facts:

One, Dean had agreed to be friends last night when Chuck asked him. He really didn't have any friends with the exception of Becky, his girlfriend back home, and Castiel. Chuck wasn't unsociable, just constantly wrapped up in his writing. He was socially awkward, but he was sure he would break out of that one day. However, as of now he had limited people in which to connect with and refused to wreck a friendship over something so inane, especially with the friendship being less than twelve hours old.

Secondly, he knew for a fact that Dean Winchester could kick his ass. The other boy was definitely fit. From the few faint scars that Chuck could make out on the half asleep boy's form, he was going to safely assume that Dean wasn't unaccustomed to getting into some serious fights.

Dean, on the other hand, was not in a pleasant mood. Sure, he was never really a morning person but it didn't help that he had to relive the highlight reel of all his worst moments with Adam all the fucking time. At least the stupid alarm woke him up before he finished remembering…

"You should probably get some breakfast before morning bible study. I mean, you missed dinner last night. You're probably hungry." Chuck bit his lip nervously, "Besides, it's kind of a rule, you know? Not missing meals…and stuff." He gave his roommate one last look before stumbling over to the door to head to their morning meal.

Dean let out a histrionic sigh. "Looks like eventually came soon than I wanted."

Dean strolled into the room in comfy, warm jeans and an old Black Sabbath shirt. Everyone was engaged in conversation, sharing laughter and pancakes. He suddenly felt uncomfortable.

Breakfast wasn't exactly what he was hoping for. Unfortunately, at this point Dean has learned there really is no point in expecting anything here. It has very few surprises in its mundane repetition. The food was laid out on the table like a small feast, copious amounts of everything filling plates and bowls to the brim.

Six kinds of pancakes paired with four kinds of warm syrup, large strips of crispy bacon sandwiching succulent sausage links, wheat toast in stacks next to the butter and jams, varying sliced fruit, eggs prepared scrambled, sunny-side up and over easy.

Dean just didn't feel hungry, even as the smells caressed his nostrils in an enticing manner.

He found himself missing family breakfasts back home, the ones his mother got up extra early to make. She hadn't had a chance to do that in years, but he still missed it. She always had orange juice with all the pulp and made chocolate chip pancakes with the Mickey Mouse pancake iron. Mary also cut the crusts off his toast, which was organic because it was Sam's favorite. To be fair to the boys, Dean usually picked the jam, strawberry. Sometimes orange marmalade because it's his mom's favorite.

He felt awful now because he knows why they stopped having meals like that, ones that were bursting with love and memories.

Dean has his mind focus on the current moment in time: breakfast at Mercy House. Plating some food up, not really eating it, he found himself betwixt Alan and some guy named Damien.

Remaining indifferent to the situation, the emerald eyed teen attempted to act disinterested as he pushed green grapes through rivers of strawberry syrup. Dean soon made an obstacle course with his food, trying to get the fruit to toast crusts on the edge of the plate. He caught the glance of cheerful blue eyes from across the table.

He couldn't smother down the smile blooming on his face as Castiel stared at him, so he smothered his bacon in more maple syrup, hoping he looked busy. He swore the Hartley boy wore a different kind of grin after that.

That was one of the things Dean really liked about Castiel: his usual friendly, warm demeanor. It just made you want to believe everything was bright sunshine, beautiful rainbows, adorable bunny rabbits and warm apple pie.

It was a nice change of pace from Adam.

Thinking of Adam brought him back to this morning, reminding him of his dream. '_More of a persistent memory than a dream, more a nightmare really'_, Dean thought as a sour look plastered itself on his face.


	5. Bible Passages and Morning Prayer

Breakfast continued on with inane chatter amongst the others at the table; all very mundane conversations. Dean had finished his meal early but didn't really feel the need to socialize. Luckily Alan seemed to be having a telekinetic conversation with his waffles and Damien was conversing animatedly with Chuck. He seemed to only be interested in the parts of the verbal exchange that involved some novel Chuck was apparently writing.

Dean found solace in his discomfited position by skating apple slices on his syrup laden plate. He honestly could remember a time when he had a meal that last this long or was this bountiful. Well, he couldn't recall a time _after_ his mother had gone to the hospital.

It was nice but it felt odd. He would rather have had a meal like this with his family. However, he had plenty of chances for that. Chances he lost because of his own choices. He also couldn't recall a time when he had felt this guilty.

He glanced up under his lashes, hoping to find a pair of sparkling azure eyes. Dean wasn't sure why, but he was starting to associate Castiel's eyes as a sort of comfort.

He tried to tell himself because they reminded him of Adam's but he knew that wasn't true. Adam's were dull. They lacked the beauty and honesty that Castiel's held. Adam wasn't a good comparison.

He then decided it was because they reminded him of his mother's. He suddenly felt really awkward at that association, choosing to just compare the Hartley boy's eyes to cliché stuff like the lake he swam in as a kid or an innocent kitten's.

It had become very apparent that Dean had a thing for the younger boy. But in his personal defense he really couldn't see how anyone wouldn't think of Castiel Hartley as anything but attractive. The boy was more than a mere sweet face, he had the personality to match.

Dean was so wrapped up in his analysis of Castiel's looks that he didn't notice said boy get up and clap his hands together loudly.

He announced in a cheery voice that it was time to clean up so they could head to morning bible and prayer activities.

Everyone grabbed their used dishes, forming a line into the kitchen. Dean heaved a heavy sigh as he pushed his hand against the edge of the table, pushing his chair out towards the wall. He got up with his dishes, pieces of fruit still swimming in sticky, red rivers, and headed over to the short line.

Scrapping his remaining meal into a nearby trash bin, he then deposited the dirty plate, cutlery and cup into the sink, following the other boys over to a room he didn't remember seeing on his initial tour.

It was light, probably due to the giant bay window. Everything seemed to be crafted out of wood, which added to the natural feel of the room. The walls were beige, littered with Christian paraphernalia. A large, intricate crucifix hung over a circle of chairs.

The chairs were the folding kind made of beaten up metal. They were all evenly spaced from each other, each with a leather-bound bible placed in the center of the seat.

Edith was already there, sitting in the chair beneath the window. She greeted them with a tight lipped smile. Her bony fingers were flipping through her worn, brown leather bible which had an elegant gold cross on the front. She dog-eared certain pages, looking up occasionally to watch them take their seats.

It seemed as if everyone had a designated space.

Dean decided the empty chair next to Andy.

Castiel was the last one to enter the room and take his seat, which was directly across from his mother. He gingerly picked up his bible, a worn black leather thing that was peppered with silver accents. It was wrapped in a gorgeous sapphire rosary with a Saint Michael center and sliver crucifix.

Dean thought it wasn't fair that all his prayer circle materials matched his appearance so perfectly because seriously, the guy was beautiful enough without all the complimenting accessories.

"Who would like to start us off?" Edith asked the boys, looking around predatorily. Alan raised his hand hesitantly, awaiting a nod of approval from the older woman. After receiving it, he held his hands out to his sides. Everyone held hands as they bent down their heads with closed eyes.

"I confess to almighty God and to you, my brothers and sister that I have sinned through my own fault, in my thoughts and in my words, in what I have done and in what I have failed to do. And I ask blessed Mary, ever virgin, all the angels and saints and you, my brothers and sister, to pray for me to the Lord, our God." Alan spoke confidently.

Everyone responded with, "May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins and bring us to everlasting life."

A clear "amen", rang throughout the group as hands were retracted back into laps and on to bibles.

"Thank you, Alan, dear," Edith stated sweetly. "Now this morning we'll be preparing for group by discussing a very important subject. Would anyone care to guess what that is?"

Hands shot up, some eager while others were much more timid. Most of the boys gave answers that dealt with things like love and togetherness and shit like that. Dean didn't think he could become anymore uncomfortable then he was at that moment.

He was wrong.

"Actually, boys, we'll be discussing the topic of abuse. Now there are many kinds of abuse. Most of you have experienced physical, verbal or emotional abuse based on what you've shared with us. However, there's other kinds some of you," she made sure to look at Dean as she spoke, "are more aware of then the others. Such as drug abuse or sexual abuse."

Dean opted to quietly staring at his lap for the rest of circle. He noticed a fraying strand from a small hole in jeans. This suddenly turned out to be the most fascinating thing in the world.

"Now, how about we all throw out some passages from the Lord's good book that we feel can accurately describe abuse?"

They went around and shared passages, making sure to explain why they felt it addressed the topic as well as what forms of abuse it covered.

Dean kept quiet until someone began reading 2 Peter 2:19, "While they promise them liberty, they themselves are the servants of corruption: for of whom a man is overcome, of the same is he brought in bondage."

"I hate to interrupt but that's not right." Dean stated without looking up from the unopened bible in his lap.

"Why would you say that?" Edith asked coolly. Dean looked up at all the curious faces.

"Because it's about how the world lies in wickedness because men immerse themselves in their sins, allowing their vices to govern over their souls. That's addiction, not abuse. Addiction is being enslaved to a habit; abuse is improper use or treating someone in a harmful or offensive way." Everyone's eyes were now glued to him. "They're similar so I can see how you got them mixed up."

Dean knew they were all shocked or confused. He didn't look like the religious type but he once was. It's hard not to be when you come from a religious family. His mom even used to teach his Sunday school classes. The whole distinction between abuse and addiction thing he could blame on the psychiatric institutions he went to prior to being stuck at this fucking loony bin.

The Winchester boy's eyes locked on to Castiel's. He was smiling, blue eyes sparkling with benevolence. It made Dean feel a bit better about everything.

* * *

><p><em>Hey there everyone! I decided to throw a quick author's note in with the latest chapter.<em>

_Anyway, I decided against the prologue for the time being. And look, two new chapters in less than a week! Don't get used to it but I've been really taking the time to work on this story lately._

_In that case, I was wondering if I could be a bit demanding in asking you all to possibly consider leaving me some reviews on either this chapter, or any chapter for that matter, if not how you feel about the story as a whole right now._

_I ask this because I'm feeling like I may change where I plan on going with this story but am not yet sure. _

_Don't feel obligated but it would be nice if you reviewed._

_Thank you!_


	6. Birdhouses Build Character

Dean kept flicking his gaze over in Castiel's direction the remainder of the morning as bible study slash prayer circle continued. He hoped that is was as subtle as he thought, especially with Edith's stern eyes watching them all intently.

Dean decided to keep quiet the after his last statement came off as controversial. He just enjoyed listening to the other boys talk. Chuck made a good point on alcohol abuse without really having Edith delve in it further. Another boy named Balthazar discussed a few finer points about what can correlate to varying kinds of abuse in teenagers with Castiel. The boys seemed to know each other very well. Dean ended up making up varying scenarios in his head as to why that was so.

The half hour was finally over; Alan finished off the circle with another holding of hands that was followed by another joint prayer from everyone.

All the boys hastily closed their bibles, leaving them on their seats, and walking gauchely wandering to other parts of the house. Except Castiel who was carefully wrapping his rosary back around his bible. He held it close to his forehead, whispering to himself. He placed a quick kiss on the crucifix before gingerly placing it in his chair.

Their eyes met for a fleeting moment.

Castiel walked over to his mother, following her to her study. Dean hastily rose to his feet a bit clumsily to step in line with Chuck, who was lagging behind the other boys.

Once they reached their room, Dean merely stared at Chuck from the doorway. The boy with the unkempt tresses acted as if possessed, everything done in a memorized rhythm. He moved heaps of papers from several notebooks to numerous others while shoving other sheets in desk drawers. Everything was a mess of various colored pen marks and different stains.

He slipped on a thin, worn robe before sitting in front of his desk, lamp enveloping swathing the surface with a warm, dim light. Chuck's slim, bony fingers traced over pages with a careful grace as he hesitantly marked bits in red pen. He mumbled to himself, things about angels and destiny.

Dean would've thought his roommate insane. However, anyone who stayed at Mercy House long enough is bound to lose their marbles, right?

Chuck was busy attempting to place a clean sheet in a typewriter when Dean cleared his throat.

Chuck stared at the taller boy with wide eyes, slender fingers still hovering over the keys of his most prized possession.

"So, what's the protocol after sharing bible stories?"

"Free time?" Chuck didn't sound too sure of himself. His knee was bouncing in a steady rhythm against his elbow, bottom lip nervously clutched between his teeth. "It has to be productive though. And something about gender neutrality or something…" he trailed off, voice getting quieter with each word he spoke; eyes shifting between his roommate and stacks of unsorted paper.

"Does a shower count?"

"Actually, you got up pretty late. Morning hygiene is before morning meal." Dean gave Chuck the kindest glare someone could give another human being. Chuck reacted like a startled baby turtle. "I'll adjust your clock if you want," was the timid retort.

"I'm not getting up earlier than eight o-fucking-clock to take a stupid fucking shower," the older boy deadpanned.

"Umm, talk to Mrs. Hartley about it?" A pregnant pause, "Or I guess you could take a shower now." The shorter teen seemed as if he might suffer from a panic attack at any moment. Dean heaved a sigh, realizing he was going to get nowhere with this boy. He counted to ten silently in his head, fingers gracefully tracing the necklaces dangling from his neck. He clutched them tight as he reached the last number, hoping his distaste for the situation would subside a bit.

There was no reason to take the detest he felt for the religious woman's rules out on an emotionally unstable addict jonesing for a fix. If anything, he should feel sympathy for this boy. They were in a very similar boat.

"I'll wait until tomorrow then. And…thank you, you know, for the alarm clock offer." Chuck gave his roommate a tentative smile. "So, Chuck, what is it that you're allowed to do during this productive free-reign activity time?"

"You work on something you're passionate about. It's supposed to help you focus being productive in a healthy and creative way. Mrs. Hartley says that idle hands are the devil's playthings." Dean couldn't help but feel for the guy. He sounded brain washed. "I know Andy plays guitar and I write, of course. I heard that Balthazar guy once say that he masturbates during our morning free time hour. Mrs. Hartley flipped out."

Dean heartily laughed at that. That British kid might not be so bad. "Dude, that's hilarious! I wish I had seen the bitch's face."

"That woman is scary when she's angry. It's like the devil's reincarnate. She made it a rule though that you have you have all your 'skills' approved by her beforehand though; something about privileges and whatnot."

"What I'm supposed to do then?"

"Mr. Hartley wanted me to tell you to go out to the hill and work on the birdhouses. He would've told you but he has a session with Damien right now."

"Birdhouses? Why would I want to help a bunch of homeless bird who are too fucking lazy to build their shelter?" He was skeptical. What if this was a trick? Then again, Chuck was the one telling him. He didn't seem like the lying or crafty type. In fact, he was shaking with deer-in-the-headlight eyes. He gave a heavy shrug before asking for directions to the hill. At least he'd get some fresh air.

Dean approached the hill, hands deeply shoved in his pockets as he whistled a Blue Öyster Cult tune. There was a table towards the top, littered with bits of wood and various paint cans filled with brushes. He wasn't expecting to see someone else once he arrived but he was graced with the youngest Hartley's presence.

Castiel was wearing a pair of worn grey skinny jeans, littered with holes and a dirty black V-neck. A smudge of orange paint was on his cheek, wood dust peppering his dark shirt. His hair was disheveled. His hands were deftly piecing together small wood pieces with glue as he looked up to beam brightly at the Winchester boy.

"Dean! I'm so glad that I get to work with you today! None of the other boys really like helping with the birdhouses anymore."

"Chuck told me your dad wanted me over here. I didn't know you'd be out here." Not that he minded. If anything this was a million times better than what he was imagining.

"Mercy House builds and sells bird houses on the side. It helps with paying for expenses." Dean wasn't sure what to say. It wasn't child labor. Summer camps had a similar set up, didn't they? He wasn't sure as he had never been to one before. Institutions had craft time though. And hospitals had visits to the patient courtyard or game time while rehab had…well, Dean never go far enough in rehab to really recall what they had. He normally ended up back in one of the other two.

"So, why do you build the birdhouses?"

"I enjoy it. I used to make them all the time with my dad and my brother when I was kid. It's a comfort thing really." Dean understood that. It was like when he used to help his dad fix up cars at the garage or he used to go hunting with him and Sammy. "Have you ever built a birdhouse before?"

"No, but I helped my Uncle build his panic room. Also, I can reconstruct a carburetor. I think I can handle a birdhouse." Castiel handing him a hammer, smile still firmly planted on his face.

"Then help me attach the roof on this one, if you don't mind." Dean stepped closely, cautiously, eyes never leaving the beautiful blues ones before him. He placed his hand gently on the shorter boy's left cheek, his thumb making a quick swiping motion a couple of times.

"Sorry," Dean's voice was as soft as his touch, "you had some paint on your face. I got most of it off." Castiel's face grew a bit pink, his smile not as broad but just as sincere as it hand been moments ago.

"Thank you."

"Not a problem," Dean said as he grabbed the tool offered to him. "Now, how do you wanna go about attaching that roof?"

* * *

><p><em>Hey there everyone! I decided I'm going to stick with the in chapter author notes from now on.<em>  
><em>So my apologies! I was going to post this a week or so ago but I ended up going through a major family crisis and then my boyfriend broke up with me and finally I ended up sick. So yeah...at least it's Halloween! Hope you all had a wonderful holiday.<br>I changed the chapter but I like it better with some of the conversation changes I made. I'm going to tweak the the next chapter and hopefully post it soon. It finally has Paul and Dean's first session, which I was initially going to put in the fourth chapter. I finally know where I want to go with this story though, so hopefully it becomes easier to sit down and type large chunks of it at a time.  
>Enjoy! Also, as usual, don't feel obligated but I would highly appreciate a review or two. *insert heart here*<em>


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